


rapture

by spacegirlkj



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Study, Introspection, M/M, Time Loop, loose canon interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 12:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: Ryo comes to realize what it means to love again and again.





	rapture

**Author's Note:**

> im awful and had to do a character study!!!
> 
> beta'd by mooksmookin!

_What is it, to love?_

The question sits on Ryo’s tongue, pairing well with the aftertaste of cigarette smoke and sulfur. He wants to chew it up and spit it out more than anything, wants to stare at the sun until he is blind in both eyes, wants to claw into his thighs until streaks of red taint milky white. It burns the inside of his throat every time he tries to even speak the word, so why think of it now, with his best friend watching him with gentle, _human_ eyes, raven hair falling onto his forehead, lip worried between teeth straight like headstones. The headlights of the car Ryo should not be driving streak across an endless highway in the dark of this night, each street lamp blinding before it fades into nothingness. The stark white light fills the leather interior and catches the hollows of Akira’s collarbone. Ryo is focusing more on him, through the mirror, than he is on the road.

This is the last time that Ryo ever sees Akira fully human again, aware of something bigger at play but not acknowledging it _this_ time, completely content to let him fall into this world once more.

 _Unknowingly_ , to an extent, because Ryo has always known.

***

In this iteration, Ryo comes to his awareness slowly.

No, not _that_ awareness. Not yet.

Akira is doubled over and clutching his ribs. He’s Ryo’s height, now that he’s like this. That strong, muscular back— so much stronger than it was only a few months ago— is curved like the ceiling of a basilica. They’re still teenagers, in that sense, even though Ryo’s soul is millions and billions of years older than his body. Even Akira— young, naive Akira— has lived this moment before. It is the nature of things and it is the nature of rewinding a tape to torture a soul who does not understand he is being tortured until it is too late.

But they are teenagers in their own right, laughing at a joke that never made sense in the first place in the middle of the woods. Ryo is watching Akira’s every move as if looking away will cause him to disappear. They’re soaked in blood that is neither Akira’s nor Ryo’s, which is good, but despite the gun pressed in the inside of Ryo’s jacket, he does not feel safe— not even with Akira laughing and leaning into his side, cheeks flushed, heat seeping into him.

Something inside of Ryo is thawing and he is not sure if it is his mind or stomach quite yet. It happens whenever he looks at Akira for too long or thinks too hard about the motives behind merging him with a demon in the first place. More than anything, Ryo just wants to sleep and to worship what humanity is left in his friend’s body. This feeling is foreign to him right now. In this time, on this Earth, he has not felt it before. He cannot begin understand the heat that rises in his cheeks when Akira, bushy eyebrows, sharp jaw, warmth in every sense of the word, looks at him.

Ryo is pragmatic in these situations. He shoves down those lingering emotions because they _will not_ help him. They will not solve the lingering suspicion of global catastrophe which has left itself burnt on the back of his eyelids. His goal is to keep Akira alive. Nothing more, nothing less.

Akira looks at him and Ryo meets his hazel eyes, eyes brimming with tears from laughter. This is not the first time Akira has cried, not by a long shot. For some odd reason, this is the one Ryo will always remember.

***

They’re at Ryo’s, and Akira is towelling off leftover blood from his face— human, for now. He has not retained any of his once baby face. It’s all lines, hard and sharp. Ryo holds himself back from tracing a finger over those lines, the ones at his cheeks and his shoulders and his abs.

Akira has also taken off his shirt. That may be worth mentioning, since they’re also standing in Ryo’s bathroom, with Ryo perched on the counter beside the sink, stitching up his own wounds. Akira heals in no more than a few seconds. Ryo takes a few days longer, but he’s nothing if not resilient himself.

That is not the focus on the moment, or not Ryo’s, at the very least. Akira’s appearance is not what matters in the grand scheme of things, but Ryo would be a liar and a sneak— which he is, to be fair— if he were to say that he doesn’t appreciate staring. Akira’s hair is fluffy and tangled together, and Ryo is thinking _God if I don’t want to curl my fingers in it_.

Akira has always been a little dense when it comes to these sorts of things. He doesn’t realize that Ryo is staring until he’s dropped the towel, sopping with both blood and water. Ryo wants to look away— he should not be allowed to look like this despite how much he wants to— but he doesn’t. Blue eyes, piercing and hooded, stare Akira down. Akira’s emotions are interesting to observe. They aren’t all filtered through demonic anger. Sometimes, times like now, they’re only amplified, stripped of any shells or layer until they are raw and bleeding. Akira’s eyes are wide and swollen, swallowing Ryo’s entire appearance from a foot away.

Ryo knows he may not be the most beautiful right now. There is probably blood in his blonde hair and most _definitely_ blood on his pale skin, and his lip might be busted, he isn’t sure.

(It is busted, and despite his insecurity, which he also will not understand until much later, Akira finds him beautiful.)

And then Akira is closer, gripping his shoulder in a way that may be harsh if Ryo were anyone else. Instead, it only feels solid, steady, unlike how Akira really is. Akira is a lightning bolt, is a tsunami, is a wildfire. If he is a hurricane, then Ryo is the eye of his storm. All of that calm is wavering, is shaking now. Ryo is afraid of what he doesn’t know, and all of his cocky, self assured, asshole selfish attitude is being washed down the drain when Akira’s fingertips trace down his jaw, _gently._ Ryo is sure his own fear is reflected in the glass of those deep  eyes.

And then Akira kisses him, and it’s so _sure_ and confident where Ryo isn’t, because his world is unraveling at the navel for some reason. It’s soft though, this contact, not harsh or forceful as their mouths press together. Akira tastes metallic and his teeth are sharp when they brush Ryo’s bottom lip. He does not mind in the slightest, throws caution into the wind and curls his hands into Akira’s hair. It’s soft and warm and so unlike the chill which constantly runs through Ryo’s veins. Their lips smack and Ryo’s head bumps against the mirror. It doesn’t shatter.

The warmth of Akira’s mouth is everything Ryo has ever hoped it to be. He cannot stop his hands from wandering now, memorizing biceps and shoulders and his chest. This is overdue, in some ways, and simple in others. For Ryo, now, it is monumental. Akira holds him close and tight and Ryo would not mind if his hips sported thirty new bruises come morning. He is not usually a frantic person but right now his mind is feverish and all he can think is _Akira, Akira_. A tongue presses to his, licks into his mouth hot and heavy. Spit leaves his lips slick and swollen, Akira stealing breath from Ryo’s lungs, leaving him chasing his every move.

When Akira pulls away to gauge his reaction, his pupils are blown so wide his entire iris seems black. Ryo grapples for composure, tilting his head with a smirk.

“Well?” he asks, and his voice only wavers for a half second. “Is that all?”

(It is not all, not in the slightest.)

***

But all good things come to the end, because Ryo has made choices he must pay for. This iteration ends with charred stone and flame, ends with just the two of them, lying on barren stone. Ryo knows everything now, remembers every loop and every life and every time he did, or didn’t, realize he was in love. It’s ironic. Every time, he tries to save him. This time, though. This time it really did backfire.

He’s the one crying now. Akira isn’t dead, not yet. Neither of them are. White feathers aren’t even stained with red— as if blood would taint Ryo’s false holiness. He looks like an angel because he once was. Now Ryo is the embodiment of evil in some sense, despite being so clean, pristine, bright.

Akira is the opposite. He’s reverted back to that human body, clothed in shreds, clinging onto his knees as he broods. He has every right to be angry and to Ryo, but he doesn’t. Not right now. Ryo doesn’t know that— even Satan cannot read minds. It makes for a lack of communication in the world’s strangest lover’s quarrel. They are the only two left on this planet, after all.

“Once you die, this place will be nothing,” Ryo says. His voice is surprisingly clear.

“I know.” Akira’s, on the other hand, is ragged, strained. Funny, how the one who represents humanity is their very caricature of hell. Strange— Ryo supposes it may speak to how humans, the _good_ , are flawed. He is too tired to think to philosophically. He will have time to think like that later.

“Do you hate me?” he asks. Ryo has a name for the feeling he was never able to place— it is four letters and rolls off the tongue softly. His head his cocked again— he looks down of Ryo, whos stares up at the starry night sky.

“No.”

That answer surprises Ryo, to an extent. He nearly chokes on his tongue hearing it. What a beautiful way to die, that would be.

“I love you,” Ryo tells him. He has no reason to lie anymore.

“I know,” Akira says, and now he is sitting up and looking dead into Ryo’s eyes. They both freeze up. Neither expected this. “I know,” he echoes.

Ryo smiles, bitter, like the ash that he breathes out of habit. He does not know if this is a good ending. He supposes it is, if only because Akira rests his palm in his, warm in the freezing cold of this world’s rapture.

  


**Author's Note:**

> so i finished reading devilman
> 
> also talk abt third person all knowing huh ahhahahah  
> (get it because. its literally narrated by god)
> 
> find me on tumblr nd twitter @spacegaykj


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